What can you hold without ever touching it?

I sleep inside unfinished dreams, pressed between the printed scenes. No voice, no ink, yet still I guide, what am I that waits inside?

I have keys but no locks, space but no room. You can enter, but you can’t go outside. I help you write and work every day. What am I?

I trap what cannot be held, Bend time without a clock. I make summer out of whispers And silence out of frost. I’m seen straight through, yet change what’s true What am I?

Soft though I seem, if upon me you lay, it's the very last thing you'll do that day.